


Hell is Something You Carry

by DarkTidings



Series: If You're Going Through Hell [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Amputation, Bad Matchmaking, Canon Disabled Character, Child Loss, Families of Choice, Mental Health Issues, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28594215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkTidings/pseuds/DarkTidings
Summary: I think hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go - Neil GaimanMerle Dixon's life in the apocalypse is one he intends to center on staying sober and making up for the kind of life he lived before.  He has his brother's family to look after, an adopted daughter and grandson of sorts, and the respect of people who don't see the racist drug addict first and Merle second.  But the ladies in his life don't seem to think he's fated to be on his own forever. Facing a determined, meddling batch of ladies might be more intimidating than staying sober in the apocalypse.
Series: If You're Going Through Hell [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783144
Comments: 50
Kudos: 38





	1. Day by Day

_I think hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go - Neil Gaiman_

** January 28, 2011 **

One of the things Merle likes most about his life these days is that he’s got all the family and friends he can handle around, but people give him his space even better than they did when he was a complete asshole. It’s an odd side effect, this sense of respect he garners now. Today was another of the milestones the damn apocalypse has gifted him with, and he’s not entirely sure how to process it, not yet. 

For the first time since his daughter died, Merle holds a baby.

He’s come close, he supposes, since Andre’s a toddler. But at three, the little boy has so much personality and independence that Merle’s mind never associates him with being an infant. How his phobia developed with babies, he’s still not sure. Eastman agreed that teenage girls should remind him more of Jewel, but all spending time with Sophia, Beth, or Enid does is make him feel fiercely protective. Little Gracie, though? He can’t seem to put enough space between himself and the ten month old.

Merle only meant to test himself and pay his respects. He’s gonna be an uncle again by mid-summer, and the newest resident of Riverside is family, convoluted as the family tree has become nowadays. So he makes his way down to the little infirmary, figuring he’ll get a peek, tell her mama she did damn good, and deliver the cradle he finally finished. 

“You made this?” Lori asks, running her hand along the smooth finish of the rail, rocking the cradle as she does so. He’s taught a bit about woodcarving in his classes, but it’s not a skill any of the kids have really focused on yet.

“Found the tools I needed on a run back before Thanksgiving.” His voice is gruff. He didn’t expect her to be quite so interested, or to even realize that the cradle’s newly made and not something he found on a run. 

“What’s the wood? The ones I’ve seen are all maple or cherry.”

“Birch.” The wood he’d found later than the tools, once he got the idea in his head. Daryl would probably have some Native American legend to tell about the wood’s significance, but the story Merle remembers from his Irish-born great-granny about why she used a birch wood cradle is probably not one a new mama wants to hear. It’s not that he truly believes in bad spirits or faeries of the sort that have nothing to do with Tinkerbell, but in a world where the dead walk and feast on the living, the words of his childhood crawled right out of long forgotten memory.

“Thank you.” The hug is unexpected, but not unwelcome, and she smiles and pats his chest. “Sit and stay a minute.”

Merle complies, happy to admire the baby as she sleeps soundly in Carl’s arms. He came toward supper time, figuring there might be fewer visitors, and he’d guessed right. The last thing he expects is for Lori to whisk the baby away from a doting big brother to place her gently in his arms.

Judith came early, as expected, but the tiny imp has all her mama’s spirit and her daddy’s stubbornness. She’s strong and healthy despite being four weeks early. Lori seems to like him well enough since he stopped being a raving asshole. He might even call them friends, with the time he’s spent teaching her the same things he teaches all the kids, separately because she often can’t attend the classes.

There’s a long moment where he can’t fucking breathe.

Lori doesn’t steal the baby away, even when he’s shaking. She just watches him, something in her expression reminding him of how Michonne saw through him back when he was broken, bleeding, and feverish. But Judith yawns, her miniature features settling into a grimace as she tries to figure out what just happened to her. The little furrowed brows make him laugh, and his laugh? It makes her bat those newborn blue eyes in his direction.

He stops shaking and swallows hard before looking back up. “She’s beautiful,” he says, voice hoarse and raw. “Perfect baby girl.”

It earns him a tired smile from Lori. “She is.”

But there’s a limit to his advancement, it seems, and she seems to realize it. Gently lifting the baby from his arms, she lets him make his escape. Breathing’s hard again, and no one stops him in his determined stride to reach the farthest end of the property from the infirmary. It’s beyond the last two houses, Shane’s and Dixons, a wooded area beyond the house Daryl picked for them at Michonne’s suggestion. Just before you reach the heavily reinforced exterior fence line, there’s a clearing Merle’s spent a few happy hours alone in.

It’s not hidden from everyone else, but those close to him respect that he needs a spot all to himself. He loves living in the same house as his family, and he wouldn’t trade his miniature apartment to live independently. There’s no such thing as a former addict or alcoholic, so he appreciates the daily reminders of just exactly what he stands to lose if he slips.

Some days he gets claustrophobic, though, so he’s got this little spot, because Daryl’s not the only Dixon who finds solace among the trees. Merle just lost sight of his ability to do so for a long time. There’s still a few hours of daylight left, but the winter chill won’t let him stay that long. He still takes a seat next to an ancient oak, leaning his back against the tree and wrapping his arms around his knees and resting his head against his forearms.

By the time his skin grows chilled, he’s managed to sort out the swirl of emotions into something that he can better handle and identify. He’s probably missed supper by now, but he knows there’s no way Carol won’t have saved his portion for when he emerges from the treeline. Bypassing the upstairs despite the thought of Carol’s cooking, he goes into the house via the shop doors.

No one seems to be downstairs, and he can hear voices from above, so he heads down the dark hallway to his own small space. The door’s ajar, letting light into the hallway. He probably should have expected to see Michonne sitting crosslegged on his bed. From her calm expression, she’s meditating, something that used to puzzle the hell out of him until he realized his own treks into the woods are much the same thing.

Her dark eyes open, studying him solemnly. “Thought I might need to come looking for you.”

Merle just smiles and taps his temple. “Nah. Got it all sorted up here.”

The hug she gives him when she stands is easier to accept than Lori’s was. Michonne saved his life, and she’s his anchor in rebuilding himself back to the man he was. She’s the same age Jewel would be, had she lived, their birthdays only days apart. The shrewd woman used his fever babbled words about his lost girl to bring him back when the pain and infection made him beg her to just let him go in those first awful days together.

Death stalked him, but Michonne didn’t let it catch him.. 

He’d wanted to die and certainly hadn’t wanted to give up anything that let him dodge memories he needed to avoid. Nothing he hauled up from his bag of tricks that usually sent women running phased her. She kicked his ass back into shape, perfectly at ease with bullying him into sobriety and compliance with the therapy she cobbled together. He finally met the one person on the planet who could outstubborn him at his worst, all because she saw something in his worn out shell worth saving.

Merle owes her, but more importantly, he loves her as fiercely as if she were his own. If Jewel had lived, he can’t imagine anyone he’d rather her be like than Michonne.

As Michonne steps away, she brushes a kiss across his cheek. She goes to settled into his armchair, obviously intending to stay.

“Where’s Andre?” he asks, going to check his small fridge. Sure enough, there’s a Tupperware of food on the top shelf. He pops the lid, digging a fork out of the drawer, and settling at the little two seater table. 

“Upstairs with Carol.” She looks content in his space, like she has ever since he got his head out of his ass to appreciate the decisions she made to keep him around. “Shane and the rest of the kids went for a goodnight visit with Judith.”

“You didn’t want to tag along?” Merle pauses mid-bite of the casserole he’s enjoying. If defining his relationship with Michonne is complicated, how things need to settle out between her and Lori is probably even more so.

She smiles, dismissing his concern kindly. “Eat. I did visit, but she mentioned she thought she upset you.”

“Shit. Guess I’ll apologize to her tomorrow.” Apparently he’s definitely lost his poker face, living contentedly among all these people.

“It would probably help if you simply explained, you know. Right now, she’s just operating on suspicion, and I think outside of your brother, Carol, and Sophia, I’m the only one here that knows why you would react that way.”

“Don’t want any pity.” The very thought makes his skin crawl. He lost his daughter, and he isn’t going to talk about her just to soothe other people’s feelings. “And Eastman knows, too.”

That gets Michonne’s attention, but she looks approving. “That’s a good discussion to have with him. Back in the old world, when people dealt with losses like yours, they had support groups for it. I’m guessing out of everyone here except Eastman, she’d understand.”

The only reason he ever mentioned Jewel to Eastman was that the man understands loss, and his was far more horrific than Merle’s. He’s halfway through eating, mulling it over, when he decides maybe he sees Michonne’s point. Lori did just spend months thinking her baby might die. She probably understands it better than Eastman, in her own way. 

It’s different, waiting it out like that. He wonders if Lori had the nightmares he did, every time Jewel went back into the hospital. Flexing the fingers on his false hand, he finally looks up, knowing Michonne’s just waiting patiently for him to think it over.

“I’ll think on it a bit. Might give it a try.” 

She smiles at the small concession. “For tonight, how about we join the others upstairs? There’s leftover birthday cake.”

Merle had almost forgotten today was Shane’s birthday, with all the hoopla about the baby arriving the way she did in the early hours. He’s guessing Carol went to work making a cake for Shane the same way she did for him when his birthday passed earlier this month. “Betting she broke out her reserve cocoa powder for it, didn’t she?” 

His cake had been lemon. Carol’s observant like that, learning favorites even if you didn’t actually admit it to her out loud. Probably ninety percent of how things work so well with her and Daryl, because his brother will never be the chattery sort.

“Red velvet, actually. It was his mother’s favorite, according to Rick. Shane’s not much for cake, although he did eat a piece since Carol and the kids made it for him.”

Picking up the container and lid, Merle figures on returning them to Carol when they go upstairs. “Is there even a kitchen left?” he teases. 

The longer the kids feel safe, the more boisterous Molly and Luke become, and no one really wants to curtail that. Merle plays around with all the kids - outside where there’s plenty of room to run, spin, and tumble all their excess energy away. Carol bringing them inside for something as finicky as baking makes him wish there was video.

“It was Carol in charge of baking, not me.” Michonne smirks and leads the way to the stairs. She pauses at the foot of the stairs, glancing over at him. “Come make biscuits for me in the morning.”

“I can do that.” Breakfast among the happy chaos of Shane and Michonne’s household sounds really good. “Got a run scheduled. Gonna take Lamson and Glenn’s teams out with mine.”

“Need an extra hand?” she asks.

“If you want to tag along, sure.” She’s been going out on his run team less and less, too much to take care of here as long as she’s considered one of the leadership trio with their larger population. He misses her as his raid partner. Morgan’s a good man, but he’s not Michonne.

“Plan on it. Let Daryl or Aaron hold down the fort for a day.”

Merle’s not entirely believing her restlessness isn’t related to her stepdaughter’s birth. Life would be easier if Rick and Lori had figured out some sort of reconciliation, but no one expects that to occur anymore, not even Rick. Too much time has passed, and too much damage done on a marriage that was unsteady long before the dead rose. Not much he can do but give her something else to focus on while things sort into the new normal.

If he manages to set up a fishing trip with Shane, well then, it never hurts for even a loyal man to have a reminder not to forget his woman with a new baby around, or so he’s told. He doesn’t doubt the younger man’s love for Michonne, and there’s something in Lori’s behavior that tells him the door’s firmly shut on her side as well. Knowing what he knows about what happened in the CDC building, he can guess what truly welded that door closed.

Michonne heads upstairs, and he follows. There’s a tiny whirlwind dancing around him as soon as he appears, demanding to be picked up. “Mer!” 

Juggling the container in his hand, Merle scoops Andre up. “Where’s my hug, little man?”

The enthusiastic hug is near strangling, but Merle only grins, even as Carol rescues the Tupperware so he can cuddle Andre close. Andre leans close to his ear. “I have a new sister,” he whispers. “But she can’t play with me yet.”

“So I hear. Guess you’ll have to settle for me for now, huh, buddy?”

Giggling, Andre nods. “We’ll teach her when she gets big.”

“I suppose we will.” He carries the boy over to return to the box of blocks he has scattered, dropping down to help as the toddler construction manager demands. 

Catching Daryl watching him with a goofy ass smile on his brother’s face, he flips him off out of Andre’s sight. From the feminine giggles, everyone else sees it, but that was the point. Daryl managed to stay a good man even when Merle wasn’t one. His brother deserves happy nights like this.

Merle’s starting to understand, day by day, that he does, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I do have a pairing planned (eventually) for Merle, the bulk of this is about Merle moving forward from his past (giving everyone all those details they wondered about that got hinted at in _Hell is Furnished_ ) and forming stable relationships with those around him. One of the things skipped over in many of my stories is Merle's direct interactions with those on the Rooftop, because he's rescued so early in my Rooftop stories, so that'll be part of this as well.
> 
> If everyone really feels they need the pairing tag, I'll add it. This should fall in the shorter range, probably 15-20 chapters at most.


	2. Not Interested in Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After telling Lori and her roommates about his daughter, Merle retreats to his workshop only to be sent a visitor.

** February 8, 2011 **

Although Merle did make sure Lori knew she hadn’t upset him somehow, he doesn’t take Michonne’s advice right away. Instead, he tests himself. Every single day after breakfast, he treks down to what Spitfire still calls the ‘Gloria House’ that now houses Aaron’s people, Lori, and the new baby.

Lori just smiles and directs him to the kitchen table, settling Judith in his arms and making them both cups of tea. If someone had told him a year ago that he’d be having a daily tea party with a woman and baby he isn’t even directly related to, he'd wonder what sort of acid trip they were on. Hell, he’s pretty damn sure he never drank a cup of tea before Michonne sobered him up. Now? Ladies keep doling it out to him like it’s the finest liquor.

“Feels like she’s gained some weight,” Merle says, eying the sleeping baby. More often than not, Judith doesn’t even wake when her mama shifts her into his arms, snuffling against him and making the tiniest snores against his chest. It’s part of why he comes now, when she’s almost guaranteed to be napping.

“Denise says she’s gained ten ounces this week.” Lori smiles proudly as she settles at the chair across from him and sips her tea. “That puts her over six pounds finally.”

“Still feels like a little bit of dandelion fluff.” He studies Lori herself. “You’re getting some color back. Little less Vampira.”

It’s a mini jab, one that makes her laugh. “I think you’re dating yourself with that reference, Merle.”

He coughs and tries to glare at her. “Ain’t that damned old, woman.”

“You started it.” Lori smirks at him, showing some of the spirit he remembers from his flashes of sobriety at the quarry camp. Much like Andrea, she’d never hesitated to tell him to fuck off when he was revved up and obnoxious.

The other two women of the house wander in, both used to him being here right now. Denise glances his way, but Olivia doesn’t. Aaron’s told him the woman’s wary of big men, especially so after the madman that destroyed their community up north. Merle figures the only reason she sends Enid to the lessons he teaches or lets her go out hunting with him is Spitfire’s influence.

Judging the baby to be sound asleep, he takes his hand off her back long enough to take a drink of tea. It’s some sort of cinnamon mix today, a change from the mint teas she’s been making for him. He thinks he might actually like it better.

“My daughter’s name was Jewel,” he says after sitting the mug down, just blurting it out because he’s never going to manage it otherwise. He hadn’t intended on saying anything with anyone else around, but it just finally came out. Talking to Spitfire is one thing, because the kid needed to understand about why he looked out for her. Anyone else? Feels like he’s yanking his own teeth without any painkillers.

Lori’s a shrewd woman, so she catches the ‘was’, and he can see her running the idea through her mind. Her gaze falls to where his left hand covers Judith’s entire back, and he knows she’s remembering his panic the first time she handed him the baby. The other two women freeze in place at the stove. Denise turns, but Olivia? She damn near tries to become part of the furnishings. 

“How old was she?” Lori uses such a soft tone, she might as well be speaking to Judith.

“Sixteen. Why babies give me the willies, I have no clue,” he admits. “They just always have.”

She stays quiet, just watching him with her daughter, fingers cupped around her own mug. Finally meeting his eyes, she gives in to curiosity. “What happened?”

“Cancer. Ewing’s sarcoma.” He sees Denise wince, so at least the lady shrink knows exactly what it means. “It’s a bone cancer, one that they treated back then by amputation if they could, and poisonous hell if they couldn’t. Jewel got to experience both.”

Everyone’s gaze is on his stump, covered only by one of Spitfire’s bright stockings. He takes the prosthetic hand off when he holds Judith, always wary that the metal and plastic might malfunction somehow against the baby’s fragile body. It’s easy enough to cradle the baby with the arm, as long as he keeps his left hand free for any sudden movements.

The look of comprehension on Denise’s face mirrors the one on Eastman’s, on why he would do something so horrifically drastic to escape those handcuffs. Lori seems to be making the same connection.

“Damn. I can’t even begin to imagine,” Lori says softly.

“It doesn’t excuse what I became after she was gone, but Chonne thinks not talking about it is worse.” He rubs Judith’s back, even touching her soft, silken hair. “She was a preemie, too. Spent time in the NICU, though. Glad this one missed that.”

He isn’t surprised when Denise takes a seat with her own mug of tea, because she’s actually joined them a couple of mornings. Olivia taking a seat? That’s new, though. Remembering she’s Enid’s foster mother makes it fall into place a little better.

Once he starts talking, it’s hard to stop. When he confessed all to Michonne, he’d been half out of his mind with pain, fever, and withdrawal. This is something done stone cold sober, and if he happens to use an eleven day old baby for comfort, so be it.

“When she was born, her mama didn’t want to be in the picture. Soon as I got her out of the hospital, I took her and Daryl and got as far away from where we grew up as we could get without actually leaving Georgia.” Savannah, where there was enough work to keep tourists happy that employers didn’t care as much about his checkered history with the state and federal prison systems. 

“Had a good run there for a while, til Jewel started having pain in her leg right around the time she turned thirteen. It got chalked up to sports injury for a while, and by the time they figured out it was something else, they had to amputate her right leg below the knee. Chemo got the tumors in her lungs.” 

Merle takes a deep breath, then matches his breathing to the baby’s, like Michonne would get him to do with her or Andre. “When it came back, it was in her pelvic bones. Chemo and radiation bought some time, but not enough.”

Never enough. He still has nightmares about that last round of treatments, the ones that drove her to beg him to let her stop everything. The very thought makes him turn his head and take a deep breath of Judith’s clean, newborn baby scent, overlaid with milk and baby wash.

“After she was gone, so was I. Might as well have been one of those rotting bodies walking around out there, except it was booze and drugs, not a virus.”

Daryl hadn’t given up on him, following him around like a faithful puppy. His brother is probably the only reason he’s alive to sit in this sunlit kitchen, baring just a little of his soul to three women who wear expressions of varying degrees of empathy.

“Is that why…” Olivia hesitates when he turns to look at her, swallowing hard. “You like to teach kids?”

“Kids don’t give a shit what I’ve done wrong the last twelve years,” he tells her honestly. “All they care about is that I help them learn to survive all this.”

Lori tilts her head, seeming to come to a conclusion at that, but she doesn’t share it. She just picks up her mug, sipping at her tea. Brown eyes meet his, and all he sees is the understanding that Michonne swore would be there. “All the kids’ favorite uncle,” she says at last.

“Exactly.” Except for Michonne, but reproducing her ability to scale his walls is unlikely to happen again. It's daughter, not niece, he thinks when it comes to her and always will be.

Judith makes a whining sound in her sleep, and he shifts her to see that she’s waking up. It’s good timing, saving him from any further discussion. He’s done what Michonne wanted, trusting his friendship with Lori and the possibility that she might understand him. Time to spoil the baby, then off to the classroom these people have entrusted him with.

It isn’t until after the class that that skin crawling feeling he knows is a result of the morning’s discussion catches up to him. He makes his way back to the house once the kids are scattered to whatever the hell they get up to without him supervising. It’s the kind of day he once would have spent drinking or as high as possible, but he can’t use those crutches anymore.

The empty apartment definitely doesn’t help, and he needs more action than retreating to his little spot in the woods. Hunting or fishing might work, but instead, he opens up the shop where he’s been collecting woodworking tools and supplies. Making the cradle for Judith had reminded him of how much he missed the side business he’d picked up in those years in Savannah.

Sketching out an idea, he selects the wood he’ll need, glad the community is so well supplied that they can venture to things like this that aren’t necessities. He’s gotten most of the initial cuts made without using any of the power tools when there’s a knock on the metal door he left partially open. Raising his safety glasses, he has to think a minute to recognize the young woman in the doorway as Joan, one of the refugees from Grady.

“Need something?” he asks, leaving off the honey he might have used on other ladies. He remembers what half the women they brought back from Grady went through too well for that. After wiping sawdust off his sweaty face, he reaches for his water bottle. The scent of fresh cut wood lingers throughout the work space. 

“Carol said you had a woodworking shop out here,” Joan ventures, looking around curiously. “It’s something I used to do before.”

Merle motions around the room. “Poke around if you like. Unusual hobby to have when the world was chugging on as usual.”

“For a woman, you mean?” The narrow eyed stare she levels at him eliminates the curiosity she started out with.

He chuckles. “No, for anyone. Easier to buy whatever the hell you need at IKEA or something like it.”

Joan’s shoulders relax from the tense posture she’d assumed when she thought he was being an asshole, and she actually steps inside, going to run her hands over the wood he has stored along one end of the long shop building. “You’ve got a lot of good stuff here. Expensive as hell, once upon a time.”

“No sense in letting it sit out there and rot when we’ll use it eventually.” While he prioritizes the actual lumber the settlement needs the most, finding stashes like what he’s squirrelled away here are his own personal treasure map. “What did you make before?”

It’s a sensible question. Just like any other craft, people have varying levels of skills, and she’s right that it’s an expensive one to take up. He’d supported it by selling what he made to tourists.

“Small stuff. Nothing as big as whatever you’re planning. Jewelry boxes, things like that.” She’s made it around to the table where he has the plan sketched out. “This is a changing table and dresser?”

Merle nods, rechecking his measurements. “I know they can go fetch one from somewhere, but this will be sturdier. I’ll get Carol to make a pad for it.”

“For Judith or for the new baby?” Joan moves away from the sketch to pick up and fiddle with an awl.

“This one’s for Judith. I’ve got some time left for Carol’s little sprout.” Along with time, he’s got a sketchbook for a cradle a bit more ornate, with more carving than he’d managed for Judith’s cradle.

“Would you let me help?” Her voice is so hesitant that he straightens and looks at her. She’s watching him out of the corner of her eye, long dark hair hiding half her face.

“Don’t figure I’d say no to a little help, but maybe you want a project of your own?” It’s not that he wouldn’t mind the second set of hands, but it’s more of a personal thing he’s working on here. There’s plenty of room, and plenty of wood, so occasionally having company if their time to work overlaps doesn’t bother him.

“You sure?” Joan sets the awl down, going back to all the stored wood, eyes bright and excited. “Even if it’s something small and silly like jewelry boxes?”

“I got no argument with jewelry boxes. Ladies around here might appreciate them. Kids might like treasure boxes.”

That idea seems to make the woman sad, but she nods. “I could do that. Maybe work my way up to toy boxes?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Merle motions toward the shelf behind the table with his sketch. “Paper back there, if you need to plan something out.”

Joan reaches for a sheet of paper, settling on the stool. “Is this what you did for a living before? Make furniture?”

Even as he returns to work, Merle answers. “Nah. That was more for fun. I did maintenance and general repair for one of those vacation rental companies back when I worked with the furniture.”

Judith’s cradle is the first thing he made since Jewel died. Everything is reminding him of his daughter lately, but it’s the first time in a while that he wishes she was here to see it. She always liked hanging out in the garage he’d converted to a woodshop. Woodwork didn’t interest her all that much, but she’d sketch out her little comics. 

Makes him wonder where those ended up. Knowing Daryl, he probably hid them away somewhere safe. His brother’s had his head on straight even when Merle didn’t.

“That’s why they’re always asking you to help on the stuff with the houses, isn’t it?” Joan’s bent over the paper, not even looking his way.

“Part of it.” With Michonne, it’s usually keeping him busy, because she knows he doesn’t do well being idle. Daryl remembers what happens when he doesn’t have something to focus on.

“At least you knew something useful for all this.” Joan pauses in her sketch, looking frustrated. “I was a clerk in a bookstore.”

Merle puts down the plane and studies her. He doesn’t deal with the Grady folks much, other than the four kids that come to his classes. Although he offered, none of the adults attend. Most do whatever chores they’re assigned, but he doesn’t think any other than the cops have ventured outside the walls since they arrived.

“You think you just traded one cage for another, didn’t you, girl?” he drawls softly, a little surprised no one’s made the connection.

“We can leave here, if we want,” Joan mutters, not meeting his eyes. “And we don’t have to…” She can’t complete the sentence. 

Part of Merle wishes those bastards back at Grady had died a little harder. Only the lieutenant had really suffered any, thanks to the other Grady cops being a little too efficient at shooting. “And if anything happens, you ought to know how to survive without some ex-cop or old redneck covering your ass.”

Joan drops the pencil and turns to face him finally, frowning. “Michonne says we don’t have to work outside the walls.”

“Didn’t say you had to even stick a pinky outside. But if you’re goddamn frustrated that you don’t know anything useful for this world? Stop bitching about it and change that fact.”

The profanity makes her flinch, but she straightens. “Like how? This is only sort of useful.”

He sighs, realizing he’s just inherited a thirty year old version of the teenagers he’s collected like ducklings. “Come to class tomorrow, with the kids. Show some interest there? I’ll teach you how to hunt, if you want to learn.”

“Gotta go outside to hunt.” But she doesn’t seem afraid of the idea anymore, watching him closely.

“Eventually, yeah. But I can teach you all the basics here. Plenty of woods inside the walls for rabbits and squirrels. You can learn to clean the game the others bring back. Hell, go out on the boats and learn to hook a fish. Join Daryl’s archery class every Wednesday.”

“Couldn’t you teach me?” she asks, but then he flexes the fingers on the prosthetic hand, partly covered with a protective glove while he works, and she flinches. “Sorry.”

“No reason to be. I can still shot a bow, but it’s better to join the class already set up for that.” Sighing, Merle leans against his workbench. Originally, he sent the curious kids to Daryl because he figured his brother needed to build a relationship with the ones Spitfire calls her siblings. “Any particular reason you don’t trust Daryl?”

Joan’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “No, he seems nice enough. It’s just…” The way she shifts on the stool makes her appear younger, but Merle figures the trauma at Grady probably contributes to that. “He’s in charge.”

The penny falls for Merle, and it has to be the first time in his entire life that he’s been the safe choice for someone compared to his baby brother. He refrains from laughing, because it’s just that fucking funny, but the girl wouldn’t understand, and takes a deep breath. 

“Leadership here ain’t nothing like Grady, girl. That boy would sooner rip off his own arm as bully a female or a kid. Won’t say he don’t lose his temper, cos we all do, but he’s probably the safest guy on the whole damn property.”

“The kids like you.”

“Yeah, they do.” Why, sometimes, he doesn’t have a fucking clue, other than the fact that he never harps on language or manners or any of the other things the other adults seem to think is still important. “But if you pay attention? They like Daryl, too.”

When she seems to be thinking that over, he returns to his work, the push and pull of using the hand saw soothing as always. She has to decide if things are safe on her own. He’s helped all he can.

“Why do you cut the wood by hand?” she asks, seeming to retire the other discussion for now.

“Practice.” He shifts the saw in his left hand. Retraining his dominant hand wasn’t easy, and he isn’t going to slip up now. “Was right handed once upon a time. Having the prosthetic is nice, but I don’t want to be reliant on it. Too high tech.”

There are backups, but all of the myoelectric ones are electronic at a level there’s always the possibility of them malfunctioning beyond usefulness. Glenn’s a genius with the technology, but he has no idea if anyone could ever manage to build a new one.

“Makes sense. I’ve never seen one like that before. It moves with you.”

“Yeah, it does. It’s got sensors that work with the remaining muscles.” He can tell she wants to ask more, about how long he’s been missing the hand, but she controls the impulse. 

“Hey, Merle? It’s about time for supper.” Carol’s voice carries into the shop ahead of her appearing, one hand resting on the swell of her belly. Her coming to fetch him is unusual, since typically Daryl or one of the kids is sent over. “Oh, hello, Joan! I see you found Merle.”

As sly as he’s learned Carol can be, there’s something about it that makes Merle suspicious, especially when she invites the young woman to stay for supper. Joan looks a little panicky, and remembering the issue about Daryl’s archery class, he’s surprised when she nods. Resisting Carol when she’s smiling all welcoming like that is a tough thing to do, he knows.

The two women leave the workshop faster than he does, since he tidies a couple of things, and his suspicion settles. Joan was sent out to find him by Carol, and now she’s checking up on them and keeping the young woman around longer. He just hopes she doesn’t get her hopes up about anything. For the first time in more than a decade, he’s content with his life and that’s a level of change he just isn’t interested in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Merle, the matchmaking has finally started. In planning this, I realized there really aren't a lot of single women in the community for Carol to recruit, so some of the Grady ladies are going to make appearances.


	3. Keeping an Eye Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merle talks to Glenn a little about Atlanta, and then finds amusement that he's being assessed by one of the Grady cops.

** February 15, 2011 **

Merle pauses at hearing voices in the smaller workshop that takes up one end of the basement his apartment is in. Glenn isn’t surprising, as the young man regularly slips by to fiddle with the collection of prosthetic technology they collected from the university lab. The interesting bit is that Spitfire’s with him.

The girl tends to avoid the remnants of the quarry group aside from her mama and Daryl like it’s a professional sport. Rick, he supposes he understands, because she’s got more reason than most to just not want the man near her. The rest are more puzzling, so he pauses to listen.

It’s just a lesson on the programming that runs the myoelectric prosthetic, the one that Merle tends to prefer the most. Nothing will ever replace the lost hand, but this one comes damn close. If he wasn’t afraid the recoil would damage the mechanics, he would even try shooting with it.

Easing into the workshop earns him a brilliant smile from Spitfire in greeting, like every time the girl’s seen him since she decided he was part of her family. “Glenn’s teaching me how everything works.”

The young Korean shrugs, offering a hesitant smile. “I figured she would pick up the programming easily, and it’s a good idea that more than just me knows it.” 

“Makes sense.” Merle can sort out the basics, but he’s no expert. “Might see if some of the other kids want to learn, too, and maybe Denise. Knowledge is power, right, kiddo?”

“That’s a good idea.” Spitfire looks over at Glenn. “You said you built a computer before, right?”

Glenn nods, motioning to the electronics that have been accumulating from various runs. “It was cheaper before to build your own, and then it was custom to what you needed. Even easier now, since price isn’t an issue.”

“So long as we have parts and electric, we’re good, right?” She’s got that earnest expression that tells Merle the wheels are spinning like always for the teenager.

“Yeah, I guess so. We’ll need to keep collecting stuff and storing it where the weather can’t get to it.” Glenn looks to Merle. “Think that’ll be cool?”

“Yeah, can’t say that we’re hurting so much for anything necessary to consider it a luxury we can’t raid for right now.” Merle’s certain Michonne and Daryl will go for it, and Aaron seems to be a pretty far sighted man when it comes to things beyond the basics. “Go make the suggestion to Michonne, why don’t you, Spitfire?”

“Alright. I’m over there tonight anyway.” When she pops out of the chair, he’s graced with a hug and a kiss to his stubbled cheek before she trots off up the stairs. She’s getting tall, going through a growth spurt that makes him think her height might top off somewhere near his.

Glancing at the screen as Glenn shifts his chair back in front of the computer, Merle notes that it’s not the software the young man uses for the prosthetic. The screen’s full of code, though, and nearest to them is a stack of textbooks on different computer languages. “It’s a good idea, training her. Yours or hers?”

“Hers. I don’t think she trusts me to be the only one who knows how to do maintenance on your hand.”

“You got an idea on why that is? She’s been unusually closemouthed about why she won’t socialize with the quarry folks.”

Glenn fiddles with the computer mouse before turning to fully face Merle by rotating his chair to the work table. “She says we haven’t proved we’re good people yet, but I’m making progress.”

Taking a seat at his usual spot at the work table, across from Glenn, Merle studies him. “Did she happen to clarify further?”

“It’s about you being left behind.” The kid sighs, fiddling with some of the tools on the table. “You don’t seem to care, but she does.”

“Because she feels like she was left behind, too.” When that gets him a startled look, Merle continues. “I’ve spent time with the shrink for more than just my own scrambled brain, kid. Doc says her frantic need to be useful stems from that idea.”

“Oh, Jesus. We looked for her, right away. Daryl even looked after dark, with Andrea. I told her that, you know.”

“Understandable. She was a kid, lost in the woods. Of course y’all looked. _Right away_.” Because Merle’s starting to assemble the mystery puzzle in his mind, and that’s the important part, he thinks. “Yanno, my brother told me y’all came back for me. You, Officer Friendly, T-Dog, and him. Just how soon was that?”

Merle doesn’t have a perfect recall of that day. Hell, even sawing off his own hand is a pretty muddled memory, but he remembers it getting close to dark by the time he reached the street, and Michonne found him after dark. It wasn’t the cocaine, not by that point, since the high was gone by the time T-Dog dropped that key. His girl spent too much time treating the sunstroke to not understand why he lost it enough to mutilate himself. The question is more for Glenn’s benefit, as Merle knows they didn’t go back that same day, from Shane and Andrea’s separate admissions.

“The next day, maybe ten o’clock? After Daryl came back from hunting.”

“And Sophia saw y’all come back without me, have your evening in peace, play happy families, and wait on my brother before you went back?” It’s what Merle expected, to be honest. The fact that anyone came to retrieve him aside from Daryl was more than he would have thought to happen.

“Oh, God.” Glenn swallows hard, and from the look of horror on his face, Merle thinks it’s the first time the young Korean’s really thought about the significance of that delay. “I’m sorry.”

“How old are you?”

It isn’t what Glenn expected to be asked, so he blinks at Merle for a minute. “I’ll be twenty-four in May.”

A little older than Merle expected, honestly. He hadn’t actually been sure Glenn had been old enough to drink when the world ended. He’s missing chunks of memory from the quarry, thanks to his habit of frying his brain with whatever seemed intriguing at the time, but Glenn’s eager to please nature hasn’t changed much.

“I’m guessing she’s sussing you out because you’re the youngest one that was involved. Less in control of what happened. Plus the contrast probably puzzles her a bit.”

“What contrast?”

“Why you saved a stranger, but didn’t mind leaving me in Atlanta.” Merle sighs. “I’ve got no grudge, kid, and to be honest, I don’t think she does. She didn’t see what I did on that roof.”

“But she knows what happened. It got talked about in camp, I know.”

“And I’ve explained, too. But she’s still learning to cope with how people react around outsiders that don’t fit into their view of how the world should play out. Which side of being an insider or outsider do you think she grew up on, with Ed Peletier as a father? She was no more part of the main group than I was back then.”

Glenn thinks it over for a while, and Merle allows it, pulling one of the textbooks over to at least put his attention somewhere other than on the kid. Ed’s behavior kept his family excluded back at the quarry camp, just like Merle’s kept the Dixons on the outside. Glenn did everything he could not to be the same, making him probably far smarter than Merle ever considered being.

“What do I do to help her?”

When Merle looks up, the earnest expression on the kid’s face is enough to make him understand Daryl’s attachment to keeping Glenn alive and well. The keeping useful trait is one that Glenn and Spitfire share, to be honest. “Talk to Doc. Hell, take her with you and talk to Doc together.”

“I will.”

Shutting the book, Merle flexes the fingers on the prosthetic one by one. “Are you helping me with all this out of some kind of guilt?”

“It kinda started out that way, but also because I was wrong about who Daryl was, so I wanted to know if it was the same with you. I was right, at least how you are now. You’ve got no plans to be like that again, right?”

Something in Glenn’s expression makes Merle laugh, a full bodied release of amusement. “Jesus, boy, you really are as smart as Spitfire. Keep an eye on me while you also make up for those hours you were safe and I wasn’t?”

“That doesn’t make you mad?” The kid’s got such a puzzled look on his face that Merle has to smile. 

“Nah. Addiction ain’t something that just goes away because you wake up and say it does. I’ve got no problem with you keeping an eye out on me to make sure the people you love stay safe.” The relief on Glenn’s face at his words is reassuring.

“Alright. I’ve got some tweaks I think will iron out that weird twitch your thumb gets sometimes, if you’re not busy.” Hopeful curiosity takes over Glenn’s expression, especially when Merle pushes his sleeve back and detaches the hand to pass it over. The session is the first time that Glenn ever manages to look directly at his stump, so at least there’s a bit of progress happening. Merle will lead in this weird path of forgiveness everyone else seems to need, and that’ll help his niece follow.

It’s stuck in his mind even as he heads up to supper. Glenn’s begged off the invitation to stay, saying he’s got to get home to that little gal of his. Merle hasn’t even met her properly, even after months in the same community. Best he can tell is that she’s nowhere near as social as her baby sister and worries the hell out of Daryl sometimes. It makes him wonder if he should be nosy on the kid’s behalf, same as Glenn’s been toward his good behavior.

The next day, he extends the invitation to Maggie to join him and Joan for their tracking lesson. Winter hasn’t lessened the population of small wildlife on the property one bit, probably because the weather’s never been so frigid as to shut everything down. The farm girl declines, but he gains another student, one of the female cops from Grady, the one he only knows by her surname, Bello.

She proves a more avid student than Joan does. For all of her wish to learn more, Joan’s still battling the problems that come from the abuse at Grady. The pint sized lady cop has fewer of those, although Merle hasn’t forgotten being told that the two female cops shared a room back then, just in case. It was inherently smart of them, living among corrupt men like that.

After Joan’s slipped off to the woodshop, the cop lingers behind, watching and then helping clean the game caught in his snares. “You’re kinder to her than I expected you would be,” she ventures at last.

Merle chuckles, flipping the rabbit he’s finished cleaning into the bin of salt water to soak. “You actually interested in hunting, or was today just to suss me out for Joan’s safety?”

The woman shrugs, meeting his gaze evenly despite having to look up due to the difference in their heights. “Both, actually. I know an ex-con when I see one.” The critical tone makes his skin crawl, just a bit. It’s the same he’s been hearing since he wasn’t even a teenager, although back then it was ‘future convict’ instead of ex-con, all due to his last name.

“And where on the spectrum do you fall, Officer Bello? Once scum, always scum, or are you still young enough to believe in rehabilitation?” There’s no warmth in Merle’s voice. He doesn’t owe this woman a damn thing.

She blinks before having the grace to look guilty. “I used to be the latter, even with the repeat offenders I arrested. Then there was Gorman and his boys.”

“Learning there are monsters in uniform could do that to a person. I learned that lesson by the time I was ten. You ever serve as a detention officer?”

Shaking her head, she’s a bit wide eyed, and he thinks she probably isn’t much older than Glenn. “I hired on with the Atlanta Police Department right after I finished college.”

“I’ll just say that your bad officers don’t surprise me much, especially once they turned guards as much as patrol. The juvie guards are sometimes worse than the adult facility guards, all in the name of making us rethink the path we were on.”

“You were in juvenile detention at ten?” she asks, voice cracking just a bit.

“Twelve for the first time I did a stint in juvie. But younger when I realized the cops weren’t there to protect someone like me.” Done with the last rabbit, Merle moves to the outdoor sink to wash his hands, regardless of the cool temperature of the afternoon and motions for her to follow suit.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s the second time someone’s apologized to him in the same amount of days, and he sighs. “Why?” It’s an answer he needs, if he’s going to keep training the young woman.

“Because assuming something might be wrong with you being around Joan because you served time was hypocritical of me, when I never stopped what Gorman did to her because he was a cop.”

“Rest assured that I’ve done a lot of asshole things in my life, but I’ve never crossed that line. Made some shitty and crude innuendos over the years that got me slapped more than once.” Kneed in the nuts once, too, but he’d deserved it for what he’d said in that bar that night. He can be a complete bastard in the right circumstances, worse when drugs or alcohol are added to the mix. “Joanie’s safe with me.”

“You threatened to leave Amanda and Bob to the walkers.”

“Because they tried to leave a man to die and kidnap his son. That’s not exactly an example of being good cops, now is it?” When Bello shakes her head, Merle continues. “You want honesty from me, I’m guessing. I could have slit both their throats and not missed a wink of sleep for that.”

“Really?” Her voice does break, but whether it’s fear or something else, he can’t tell.

His smile is a cold, bleak one. “Yeah, really.”

Bello studies him closely before giving him a jerky nod. “You see Joan as a kid, don’t you?”

“Something like that,” he replies. “Despite my sister-in-law trying to play matchmaker, I have no interest in sleeping with Joan. Pretty sure it’s mutual.” Remembering the conversation with Joan in the workshop and then ones since then, the young woman is definitely using their age gap as a safety buffer. She has begun flirting with Merle, but it’s awkward so far, like a teenager trying to figure out how that sort of thing works in the first place.

“It’s weird for me to see it that way, because she’s older than I am, but I think I understand.”

“Good. You still want to learn to hunt? Joan doesn’t want to go outside the walls, so I’m limited in what I can teach her.” He’s seen Bello in Daryl’s archery classes, and he knows she’s not afraid of guns, not after becoming a cop. Teaching her will actually be easier than Joan because of that last fact.

The relief on her face almost makes him smile. “Yeah, I do, and I don’t mind going outside the walls.”

Eyeing her critically, Merle nods. “Meet me here at daybreak in the morning then, Bello. Gonna go out to see if I can bring back a deer if you want to tag along. And take those rabbits home for Hershel’s stewpot.”

“I’ll be there.” She takes the brine tub of rabbits and gives him a lopsided smile. “I’ve got a first name, you know.” 

“Care to share what it might be?”

“It’s Leslie.” Her smile widens, showing a hint of what might be dimples, and when she wanders off, Merle shakes his head and hopes Carol doesn’t get any new ideas based on his newest student. Girl’s cute, but if she’s younger than Joan’s twenty-seven years, it’s a definite hell no on his part. Cradle robbing isn’t on his agenda, now or ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will cover different issues related to the Rooftop scenes. If you think the group was justified in leaving Merle behind, let's just say 'agree to disagree'. I am distinctly not a fan, coming from a childhood where people treated me and mine as disposable like that.
> 
> The only person that ever showed true remorse for leaving Merle to literally fry in the sun was T-Dog, who had the most reason to want him gone, and that's just a sad statement on the people who claim to be good people.


End file.
